Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?
by EverLastingXLove
Summary: A tender moment shared between Caliban (John Clare/The Creature) and Lavinia Putney. She likes him for who he is, not for what he supposedly looks like. For the first time in his new life he feels fully accepted by another being. I DO NOT OWN PENNY DREADFUL NOR DO I OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR THE SONNET USED.


" _I can speak poetry to the end of days, but I cannot take her hand in this hand, so pale and ugly. All the stratagems of the battle are unknown to me: When to laugh, how to laugh, how to stand, and sit, and bow, and dance." - Caliban~ Penny Dreadful: Season two, episode five._

" _ **Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?"**_

The day started off as any day would, the sky dark and pending and what lies ahead unknowing. Everything was at a still within the cellar of the Putney's Family Waxwork, Caliban _(Or John Clare as he had taken to calling himself.)_ was sitting on a stool, a leather bound book resting open faced within his lap, Mr. Putney was ever so kind enough to allow him a moment's break from his hard day of work. Caliban found his tasks at hand rather interesting, he was to re-create the horrific scenes of murders most foul, to bring that tragic day in time back to life but put forever at a still for those around to remember and visualize for the rest of their days. As unsettling as the scenes may be to some mortals, Caliban found himself admiring it and enjoying the gruesome work, for the world was not a gentle place something he knew entirely too well. The world was full of bloodshed and sorrows, happiness and peace was all but rare in the lives of fragile mortals, and their lives short. This exhibit was removing the veil from man's eye, to show the world for what it was, to show the truth of what man was capable of.

Though despite the fascination he held for creating such horrific scenes, a break was duly needed. Unlike most men, Caliban did not spend his resting time drinking he spent it lost in the endless crisp pages of a book, overwhelmed by the sea of elegant words that caressed his very monstrous soul. Today he was diving into the endless wonders of William Shakespeare, how elegant his words and how tragic his tales. The poet was one of Caliban's personal favorites, the poet seen life in such a colorful vision one filled with passionate bouts of love, and strange creatures not of this world, though all end with a tragic twist, like that of Juliet and her Romeo, such sadness yet such truth.

Just as he flipped the page of the book with his cold lifeless finger, the sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard echoing down the hallway of the cellar. At the sound Caliban shrunk into the shadows, he has yet to come to a comfortable state around others, for he feared what they might think of him. His face wasn't a beautiful one, it was not a face meant to be gazed upon, it was a face that should be remained hidden from the world, shrouded by darkness. It was rare to meet another living being who could look upon his face and recoil not. Though despite Mr. and Mrs. Putney's kindness to him, allowing him within the walls of their home, paying him for his services and not casting him aside as the many others had, he knew his face had unsettled them. For they did not look upon him as human, but as some sort of curiosity to be fathomed by.

A moderate amount of relief washed over him when he realized it was Ms. Lavinia Putney, their young daughter. Caliban admired Lavinia greatly, she was beautiful and intelligent and she seen the world in a view that Caliban found refreshing, though what he liked most about her was the fact that she could not look upon his face, for she was blind. Her eyes dull and glassed over, yet still so full of life. She was incapable of seeing him for what he truly was, a monster. She could not see his pale ugly flesh, nor look upon the hideous scar that ran deep upon that flesh. Though she had touched his cold heart in ways other did not, for she placed her delicate hands upon his face to see him in the only what that she could, and she did not recoil from him. As she removed her hands from his face, she offered him a smile so bright he feared he would go blind himself, he was accepted for the first time in his second life. Oh, how his heart wept with joy at the thought of being accepted, to not be thought of as odd or monstrous. It was bliss.

He watched her as she slowly made her way towards the work desk, her delicate hands guiding her way to where she wished to be. Caliban could only imagine what it was like, to not see with one's eyes but one's hands instead, oh how differently the world could be brought to view that way.

"I know you're there, Mr. Clare." she said in a hushed tone, amusement in her voice. "I can hear you. Many people do not know how to approach me, thus the situation turns awkward rather quickly." she whispered, her lips twitching up into a small smile, as her small fingers danced upon the desk searching for what she came for.

"I…I apologize, Ms. Putney." Caliban replied with much uncertainty within his voice. "I'll leave you be." he said softly, setting his book aside as he readied to leave, to allow the girl some peace and relieve her of his looming ominous shadow.

"No. You don't need to leave." Lavinia said softly, as her fingers dipped into the jars full of glass eyes for the wax mannequins. It was odd to Caliban, to see how well she knew her way about the house without sight guiding her way.

"As you say, Ms. Putney." he said softly, returning to his stool.

He watched on as she plucked two glass eyes from of jars, and tucking them securely within her apron pocket. Her small frail body then faced him, much to his surprise. Though as she slowly approached him, Caliban had the urge to move from her path, why did things have to be so very difficult for him? He had the capability to hold normal conversation, he had the gift that allowed him to spew poetry for hours from his lips, though when in the presence of another being he could not help but shy away, and forget the very capability of speech. He could only watch on as he lingered in the feeling of uncertainty, his mouth slack with words he wished to say, but alas they could not free themselves from his lips and continued to lingered within the contents of his mind. Why could he not be like a normal mortal man? Why could he not woo a woman, nor speak a single syllable? Why has his existences in this world cursed him so? All brilliant questions, left unsaid and untouched.

"What are you doing, if you don't mind me asking, Mr. Clare?" she asked innocently, gazing up at his hideous face with her glassed over blue orbs as she awaited his reply.

"Ah, reading." he replied shortly, how unintelligent the response and so awkwardly put. Though Lavinia didn't seem to mind.

"My mother use to read to me when I was younger." she mused, as a soft smile crossed her delicate features. "I always became too frustrated that I could not read myself like I so desperately wanted. So, she read to me. I love hearing those tales of love and adventure, though it also made me sad." she whispered.

"Sad?" Caliban asked in confusion.

"Yes. For I could not envision the contents of the story properly. It is so very difficult to try to imagine something you have never seen before, though I contented myself with visions of my own mind's making despite how inaccurate it probably had been." she laughed softly. "Tell me, what are you reading?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, ah…Shakespeare, ma'am." Caliban replied softly, his heart reaching out for the poor girl in front of him. He could not imagine living in the world he could not see, he felt she was a strong woman to be able to go on.

"Could you…read it to me?" she asked softly, stepping closer to him which only caused him to step back further into the shadows.

"Oh, no. Please, I can't." he said shyly, as he clutched the book to his unmoving chest. He found it odd, for he could recite poetry without a care in the world, but when requested to read out loud from a book he turns craven and hides like a mere child.

"No need to be shy, Mr. Clare." Lavinia said gently, leaning against a near by pillar. "Please? Just something small?" she asked again.

Though as Caliban looked upon her face, he could not find it in himself to refuse her. "Of course." He whispered, slowly nodding his head, as he opened his book to the page he was previously reading.

" _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_

 _Thou art more lovely and more temperate:_

 _Rough winds do shake darling buds of May,_

 _And summer's lease hath all too short a date;_

 _Sometimes too hot the eye of Heaven shine,_

 _And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;_

 _And every fair from fair sometimes declines,_

 _By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;_

 _But thy eternal summer shall not fade,_

 _Nor lose possession of that fair ow'st;_

 _Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,_

 _When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:_

 _So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,_

 _So long live this, and this gives life to thee."_

As his voice stilled, his blazing yellow eyes peered up at the woman across from him through his dark lanky hair. The soft look upon her face showed him that the sonnet taken her some place far from the world of man, to a world of wonder and life, and passion and color. It filled his heart with what joy that can be held there, to see another person react to literature as similar as he. As her pink lips formed a soft thoughtful smile, he couldn't help but join her in the act of smiling. He knew his smile wasn't beautiful, nor was it charming. To him his smile was that of a grinning monster that lurked within the common nightmare, he should have been born with fangs that matched such a face. Though he knew Lavinia could not see the ugliness of his smile, and knowing such a thing soothed his worry which allowed him to smile freely.

"That was beautiful, Mr. Clare. Thank you for reading it." she said politely, the smile still lingering upon her lips. "I can tell how passionate you are by the tone in your voice while reading. Passion is a beautiful thing, Mr. Clare. You are so very lucky it runs deep in your heart, should I be so bold to say…any woman would be lucky to hold your heart." she said honestly.

"That…is very kind of you to say, Ms. Putney." he said shyly, as he dropped his blazing yellow gaze to the ground beneath him. "Though I dare say this face is not the type of face a woman would fancy." he said in a low tone, thankful she could not see the face he hides from the world.

"Don't say such things, Mr. Clare." she said softly, as she slowly took a step towards him. "You are a very kind man, and I'm sure you have a face to match." she said gently, her delicate hands reaching out towards him.

Caliban almost moved away from her grasp, but he stilled his movements for he did not wish to offend her. His body tensed as her gentle hands traced the contours of his horrific face, her delicate warm fingers tracing the shape of his monstrous features: His nose, his jaw, his brow, his cheeks, and his lips. It felt so odd to be touched so tenderly by a woman, it was funny how peace could be found within the smallest details of life, with one kind touch of a hand. A lethal touch, for it leaves your heart at the mercy of another, so unprotected. Though as she continued to trace his features, he couldn't help but wonder what her fingers saw. Did they trace the features of a handsome man to her mind? Or that of an ugly one? Lavinia then slowly took a step back, as yet another smile graced her lips.

"Just as I thought, you're very handsome." she said sternly, as if her statement was a matter of fact. Even though he did not believe her kind words, he couldn't help but smile.

"You're very kind." he said softly, as he looked down at the young woman. "And…you are also very beautiful as well, if I may be so bold to say." he said shyly, regretting his poor word choice. Yes, she was beautiful anyone with eyes could see that. Though her beauty was beyond comprehension to him, something that can only be explained within the contours of a poem so elegant, putting it into words would be an almost impossible task. Only then will her beauty be justified by mere words.

"Thank you, Mr. Clare." she chuckled softly, as she titled her head to the side. "I have never seen my face before, father tells me I look a lot like my mother. Though, I don't see how good that does me, for I do not know what she looks like either." she said in a soft wishful tone. "Tell me, Mr. Clare. What do I look like?" she asked curiously.

Caliban looked at the young woman in confusion, there were so many words he could use to describe her features but none of them seemed to be fitting for her beauty. The words he could use to describe her as sounded horribly average, of what which she was not. As he studied her with his blazing yellow eyes he took a step closer, just to get a closer look at her elegant features.

"You have…the most delicate of features, you are but a rare beauty far too overwhelming for the world to comprehend. To even say that you are beautiful does not satisfy the truth, for your beauty goes beyond that simple word, your beauty is unexplainable and so very perfect to behold, as if I was looking an angel in the face." he whispered in a tender tone.

"You…really think that of me, Mr. Clare?" she asked astonished at his word, just by looking down upon her delicate face he could tell his words meant a great deal to her.

"Of course, Ms. Putney." he said gently, as a small unsure smile graced his naturally blackened lips.

She then graced him with yet another smile as bright as the sun above them, as she reached out to him for a second time he did not cower into the shadows. She placed her delicate hand upon his arm, and leaned up on the tips of her toes to bestow a kiss upon his cold lifeless cheek, a kiss that ignited a warmth deep within his heart that made him feel more alive that he had ever felt before. Just that small act of kindness shed the brightest light upon his darkened world, for the touch of her lips upon his skin killed his demons and made him feel almost as if he were not a monster but a man. For the longest time he wondered how his face, his hideous form, could fit with ease amongst the mortal and the beautiful. When he realized the differences between he and the others around him, he learned to stay hidden within the shadows to protect such a heart his creator gave him.

A wave of comfortable silence stilled within the air between the two, a monstrous man who was born from death and a young woman with a living heart beating beneath her breast, two difference beings with the same set of mind and a rare connection of the soul bonding them in ways never thought possible. Though before Caliban could move his lips to speak, a shuffling of footsteps echoed through the cellar hallway, pulling their attention elsewhere. Caliban's blazing yellow gaze broke away from Lavinia's glassy blue eyes and shifted towards the doorway of the cellar to focus on Mr. Putney whom was smiling upon them in the kindest of ways.

"There you are Lavinia! Your mother is looking for you, why don't you go upstairs?" he older man suggested, as he offered Caliban a smile.

"Of course." Lavinia said softly, as she reached out to grasp her father's arm. "Farewell Mr. Clare, I always do enjoy speaking with you." she said politely.

"And I with you, Ms. Putney." Caliban said softly, as a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. Though before the father and daughter left the room, Mr. Putney turned toward his newest worker and smiled.

"Mr. Clare, why don't you get started on mixing that blood, eh? I'm going to need a hefty supply of it, should I be finished this gruesome scene by morning. I'll tell ya, this crime scene isn't a pretty one but the customers will love it I'm sure!" he said kindly.

"Of course. Right away, Mr. Putney." he whispered softly.

Caliban watched as they walked away from him, as he watched Lavinia's small delicate form disappearing within the darkness of the dimly lit cellar, he could of sworn he felt a flutter beneath his breast. A brief flutter of life he thought long since dead within him, it was odd how one mere act of kindness could change a person in one burst of light and consume them with such overwhelmingly passionate feelings that were completely foreign to their heart. For a man who thought such feelings were forever out of his reach, was now left baffled at such fierce emotions that were moving through his cold dead heart with such pain and realism. It could only end badly, couldn't it? For who could ever love a monster such as himself? Soon such feelings of love and wonder would subside and leave him with the painful sting of heartbreak. A man, if that is what he was, like himself could only live a life filled with sorrows and pain. Oh, why did his creator not make him of steel and stone? Why did he allow him to feel?


End file.
